Never Wanted You More
by MorganHlaalu
Summary: S/D Rated for rape and violence. Seamus survived the fall, and invites Dylan to a face-off, to see who is the stronger once and for all. Who takes control, and who dominates who?


Summary: Rated for rape and violence. S/D Seamus survived the fall, and he invited Dylan to have a face-off with him to decide who is the stronger once and for all. Who takes control, and who dominates who?  
  
"I've never wanted you more."  
  
"Always wanting what you can't have."  
  
-Seamus O'Grady and Dylan, Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle  
  
Seamus grabbed Dylan by the hair and pulled her head back till he could smell her neck. His other arm curled around her stomach, pressing her close to him, letting her feel his raging hard-on. Dylan gulped and shivered in disgust. All he could think was how sexy she was when she was fighting, and how much he wanted her. All he had had for the past eight, almost nine years was an aging picture of her and his hand. He was a man, and by god he would have her whether she wanted him or not. He shoved her away from him to fall against the box in front of her. She turned around and tried to fight back, but he pushed her back against the box again and grabbed her legs so that she couldn't move them and they were on either side of his waist. She kicked, trying to plant a foot on his leg or stomach or crotch, anything to push him away, but he was snugged tight against her, and one of his hands pinned her wrists above her head, while his other hand was pressed firmly against her chest just below her throat, keeping her from sitting up.   
  
She was trapped.  
  
Seamus leaned forward and smashed his lips to hers, forcing his tongue between her lips. Dylan bit down and tasted blood not her own and heard a shout muffled against her mouth, then felt his lips leaving hers and a slap across her face. Her brain raced to find a way out of the situation. Her wrists were small and Seamus' hand was large, large enough that pinning her wrists tightly was an easy task, and trying to move her wrists proved ineffectual. Any movement of her legs necessarily meant opening them wider, which just gave Seamus the opportunity to thrust his hips a little closer to her. He started pulling at the waist of her pants, and it was then Dylan realized his intentions.   
  
"Oh, hell no." Dylan lifted a leg just enough to get it under Seamus' arm and over his shoulder and pushed hard. He wasn't pushed away, but a nerve was deadened and his arm paralyzed temporarily, freeing Dylan's wrists. He had taken his hand from her chest, so she could sit up and shove as hard as she could. Seamus stumbled back a few steps and Dylan attacked, wishing she had thought to wear jeans and a t-shirt. Those would make Seamus' job more difficult than her current choice of clothes (thin cotton pants and a button-down) would.   
  
Dylan raged, attacking every part of Seamus she could reach, backing him quickly towards the wall. She was seconds away from pinning him to the wall with her foot when Seamus caught her ankle and pulled up hard. Dylan off-balanced and fell hard on her ass. She sat, dazed and blinking, for a few seconds, before she realized that without Nat and Alex here, she could not hold her own. He'd been good when Dylan had known him, he'd been the first to teach her how to fight, but he'd gotten incredible in prison. Dylan stood and knew that fighting him much longer was not an option, so her eyes flicked around for an exit. She saw the warehouse door she'd come through, but it was at least 100 yards away. She'd seen a demonstration of how hard and fast he could go at the dock.   
  
Dylan felt the strong urge to throw up at the double entendre.   
  
She was spared the trouble of trying to select another exit when Seamus attacked. He lunged at her, knocking her back to the ground. They ended up ten feet from where Dylan had been standing, with Seamus on top of Dylan. She planted her hands on his chest and pushed as hard as she could, feeling her muscles screaming in protest, but Seamus wasn't budging. How was that possible? Even with all the muscle mass he'd put on in jail, he wasn't *that* heavy. She scrambled her mind to figure out what he could be doing, then realized he was gripping something behind her head as he laughed at her. She was laying on a manhole, so that even if Dylan had the strength to move Seamus, and the manhole, and herself, she would still be pressed to him. He pulled what appeared to be a plain knife handle out of his back pocket, twirled it right near Dylan's head, and pressed the button, popping the blade. Dylan's eyed widened and she pushed hard while he wasn't paying attention, but he gripped her hips with his knees and wasn't budged. Dylan reached behind her head to pry Seamus' fingers away, which proved a mistake. Seamus grabbed her wrists and trapped them again.   
  
"You're mine, Helen."  
  
"My name is Dylan."  
  
Seamus smirked. "I'm the only one who knows you, *Helen,* and I'll call you what I please." He leaned down and smashed his lips to Dylan's. He didn't force his tongue on her this time, because the smarting in the tip of it reminded what end that had. And Dylan couldn't help thinking he was right. He knew everything about her, from her favorite song of all time to exactly where to touch her to get her going or comfort her or calm her down or set her on fire. Dylan pressed her lips together hard and struggled all the more against his hand. She tried tilting her body to dump him off of her, anything to free herself, but he was too heavy for that. He ground his crotch forward into hers, and Dylan flinched at the hardness there, ignoring the slight sting behind her eyes and, worst of all, the stirrings of fire in the pit of her stomach. Traitorous body. She crossed her ankles firmly, waiting for an opportunity to cross them further and listened vaguely to the Irish he was muttering. His eyes locked with hers and he stopped speaking Irish.  
  
"You want this, don't you, Helen?"  
  
Dylan spit up into his face. Seamus used the hand holding the switchblade to wipe his face.  
  
"You want it. Say it, little bitch. Dean e!"  
  
Dylan blinked a little. He must've been really pissed if he was speaking Irish again. But then, as a reflex, she spoke Irish back to him in spite of herself.  
  
"Ni dheanfaidh me e." I will not do it.  
  
Seamus gave a twisted sort of smile and pressed the switchblade up under Dylan's chin. "Say. It."  
  
Dylan looked him straight in the eye. "No."  
  
Seamus pressed the blade even closer. A few drops of blood welled up and ran down her throat. Good thing I wore the red shirt, Dylan thought irrationally, biting the inside of her lip so as not to cry out. Seamus decided that he wanted her about as much as he wanted to kill her, and he did have a healthy attraction to the living. He supposed he could still have her if she didn't have a pulse. But it wouldn't be nearly as much fun. He watched, mesmerized, as a few more drops of blood ran down her neck and removed the knife. He slid it down her jugular, down between her breasts, cutting most of the buttons off her shirt, and down between her legs. He cut a slit in Dylan's pants and underwear and unfastened his own pants.  
  
Seamus slammed into her over and over, grunting out Dylan's name. Well, her old name. Helen. Every time Dylan tried to fight back, Seamus just pushed her down harder, pressed his weight against her till she couldn't move. After awhile, she gave up and let this terrible part of her past use her body like a blowup doll from hell.  
  
Dylan stumbled out of the warehouse an hour later, bleeding still and barely able to walk. She stumbled to her car and managed barely to drive herself home. Once there, she called Alex and Natalie, both of whom panicked at hearing Dylan so distressed, and both promised to come over immediately with beer, ice cream, pizza, and chick flicks. As soon as she hung up, Dylan went into her bedroom and changed into a clean shirt and jeans. She sat on her couch to await her friends, staring blankly ahead, her mind racing. Had Alex and Natalie asked her what she was thinking later, she couldn't have told them.   
  
That was how Natalie and Alex found her. Alex panicked at seeing the wound and blood on Dylan's neck, and immediately disappeared to the bathroom for Dylan's first aid kit. Natalie put a hand on Dylan's shoulder, waking her from her reverie, and Dylan had to try hard not to shrink away from Natalie's touch. Natalie looked down at her sympathetically and sat next to her, folding one leg beneath her and hugging the youngest angel. Dylan broke and, for the first time that night, she cried. Natalie pressed Dylan's face gently to her shoulder, and that was the scene when Alex came back. Dylan stopped crying and got up long enough for Alex to clean the blood away from her neck and bandage the wound. Dylan told the two what had happened, leaving out, obviously, a few key parts, in a distant, detached, flat sort of tone. The two older angels hugged her and the three settled down for a night of comfort food and movie-induced crying.   
  
Dylan managed to ignore the fact that she was probably being hunted, and that her life would never be the same. 


End file.
